


Cameo lover

by noisette



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Kink Negotiation, Pre-Canon, Safer Sex, Spies & Secret Agents, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noisette/pseuds/noisette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Word is Fury personally recruited every agent on the SHIELD payroll. Almost true: he didn't recruit Maria Hill. That was Coulson's job. (Or how two agents fell in love and promptly fucked it up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cameo lover

She could give herself a hundred excuses for even considering what she's about to do, but the reality is simple: curiosity. There's only so much time she can spend online these days and she's too busy to invest in a relationship that's going nowhere. At least if this guy's a fraud, she'll have her answer by the end of the night and have the freedom to concentrate on _finding a real man_ , as her mother would say. Right. As if meeting people online means they're any less real that the college kids who still try to pick her up in bars. 

The doorbell shrills, cutting short the exercise in rustling up courage. She peeks through the peephole even though it's useless. It's not like she knows what he looks like in the flesh. Barring a couple of grainy photographs -- and those not always of their faces -- they haven't really seen each other. 

"Hi," says the man on the other side of the door when she pulls it open. "I'm Phil."

"Maria." She holds the door open a little wider, jerks her head to the side to invite him in. Somehow the actual words stick in her throat. He's pretty much what Maria's been anticipating: average height, average build, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiles. His hair's thinning a little already. It should be a turn off. It's not. 

If Maria wanted a brainless Adonis, she would've let the jocks at the sports bar down the street ply her with liquor. "Have any trouble finding the place?" She doesn't lock up in his wake. It's just a precaution. 

Phil shakes his head. "The directions helped a lot." He holds up the bottle of wine in his hand like a peace offering and it takes Maria a moment to realize she's been blocking his exit. Old habits and all that. 

The wine is a hefty weight in her hands, the label unfamiliar. "Argentinian?" She knows it's not, but feigning ignorance never hurt romance -- another one of her mother's maxims. Probably not the best one to follow right now.

"Brazilian, actually," Phil corrects, shrugging a little. He can't seem to take his eyes off her. "I didn't know what else to bring and you mentioned you wanted to go to Rio someday..." He remembers that. It's not so shocking; they've been corresponding for months: just on and off, at first, and then around Christmas when he broke up with his girlfriend -- who may not have existed in the first place, Maria isn't that gullible -- pretty much daily. It started with chat rooms, became an email thing and now it's a potential real life disaster happening in Maria's living room. 

"It's perfect," she tells him. "Make yourself at home. I'll find us a corkscrew." The kitchen is open-plan, at least, so she gets to keep an eye on her guest while she rummages in the cupboards. To his credit, Phil only takes a small detour by her bookcase on the way to the couch. 

He smiles when she returns, shuffling further to the end of the couch to make room for her to sit. There's an armchair, too, but it seems like it's a foregone conclusion that neither of them will be using it. 

"Lots of broken spines," Phil offers, clearing his throat. 

"Sorry?"

"Your books. When you said you liked spy novels, I thought you just meant Ian Flemming."

Maria finds it in her to laugh. "No, that would be sort of a normal affinity, wouldn't it? Everyone has a favorite Bond." She holds the bottle steady between her knees and slides the corkscrew in with a merciless twist. "Mine is a dangerous obsession. Like people who go gaga over toy trains."

"It's not that bad," Phil scoffs. "What's your favorite Le Carré?"

"The Little Drummer Girl," answers Maria, hardly even blinking as she pulls the cork free with two sharp tugs. Maybe she should have asked for Phil's help; it's not terribly feminine to be the one pouring the wine. Too late for that now.

Phil doesn't seem to notice. He holds up the glasses when he could just as easily have left them on the table. His hands don't shake even a little. "Really? The one that's not about George Smiley?"

"I identified with Charlie, I guess." Radical leftist double-agents? Nothing could be closer to her heart. 

"A cellist who likes spy novels. Interesting... Although, as I recall," Phil muses, "Charlie didn't get much of a happy ending." 

Be that as it may, Maria didn't ask him over so they could talk books – or so she could lie to him about her day job in the orchestra. She shrugs, endeavoring to change the subject. "So, do you want a tour of the apartment?" She's not nearly drunk enough to make that sound suave and flirtations, so it comes out more deadpan and to the point than is probably sexy. There's a reason Maria doesn't do relationships; it's not that men are assholes or that she's too busy, though that's a handy excuse whenever she's on the phone with her mother. 

Men just don't speak her language. No one does. Her few girl friends never have trouble pulling dates; the guys she knows are usually alpha male types, swayed by girls more likable than she feels. Maria sips her wine as she's done at a hundred different parties and a hundred different bars, waiting for the brush-off.

"Sure." Phil looks a little taken aback. (It was a pretty brutal, no-nonsense kind of offer.) He probably only agrees out of politeness. 

"Won't take long," Maria promises. "You've already seen about sixty percent." The rest is made up of a bedroom and an adjacent bathroom. She leaves out the gun locker in the pantry. 

"It's a nice place," Phil says vaguely, sipping at his wine. They're in the bedroom doorway and his gaze keeps sliding to the bed. 

Maria can't read minds, but she knows why she asked him over, why she wanted to meet him in the first place. She's fucked herself on her fingers while thinking of Phil often enough. This is it. Phil's small smile tells her she's not the only one thinking along those lines. He's too polite to make the first step. No problem, Maria can be daredevil enough for the both of them.

She hooks a hand around Phil's nape and reels him in. Their mouths meet jaggedly, at first. He bites her lip. Their teeth clang together. Maria almost spills her wine over his white shirt. It's the recipe for a disastrous evening, no doubt, but rather than pull away, Phil just laughs against her mouth. "That was unexpected." His free hand cups her cheek and Maria discovers that his fingers are remarkably calloused for an accountant. 

"Was it?" she asks, licking her lips. "I don't think so."

She lets him press her against the doorjamb even though it's a little bit uncomfortable and tries again. This time, with Phil's cooperation, the kiss is slow and languid; Maria can't bite back a moan. 

They stumble to the bed like they had the whole bottle of wine and not just a few sips for courage, knees buckling when they hit the edge of the mattress. The glasses are saved by the bedside table, but only just. Maria pushes against Phil's shoulders, frantic to free him of his jacket and then, if possible, his shirt. She's glad when he obediently lifts up his arms to help, but happier still when he presses her back against the bed, his hips bearing down hard against hers.

There's a cautionary tale somewhere in all this. Smart women who don't want to end up in some grisly news report don't invite strangers off the internet into their bedrooms. They also don't make out with them after opening a bottle of wine. Maria has grown up surrounded by warnings and threats; she's given up on being scared. 

Phil reaches for her leg, tugging it higher against his hip. He's not shy, that's for sure. 

"Wait," Maria bites out. "Hang on."

It doesn't take much more. Phil inches back. "Too fast?"

"No, I'm. Shit, I'm lying on my hair." It shouldn't surprise her that he's just stopped, just like that, but there are good guys and then there's Phil, who has been listening her to ramble on about books and movies and family she only ever sees for the sake of arguments – on and on for months. He hasn't made a move yet. Of course he's going to stop if she asks him. He rolls off of her quickly enough, cheeks flushed and his pants a little tight around the hips.

It's not until he says "I think we might be moving too fast" that Maria actually realizes she's lucked out, big time.

"Pop quiz," she drawls. "Do you want to sleep with me?"

Phil swallows hard but he says "Yes" quicker and with more conviction than she would've expected. Maria watches him drag a hand across his face, as if that'll help clear his head. "I really do, but--"

"But nothing. I want to sleep with you." Maria shifts to her knees and in a fit of bravery, she plucks off her dress. There's no bra underneath, only pale white underwear. "I'm not screwing around. I've thought about this for a while. Isn't that why you're here?"

"It's not." 

"Oh."

"I wanted to meet you," Phil adds quickly. "Sleeping with you -- that's. I don't want to take advantage." Amazingly, his gaze doesn't even dip past her chin. It seems to Maria like he might be watching her a little warily, as if afraid to overstep. Were it not for his fingers knotting in the sheets, she'd almost think he wasn't interested. 

She makes up for it by climbing into his lap. "Let me put that fear to bed right now... I'm exactly where I want to be, Phil."

"On top?" Calloused fingers slide up her bare thigh to settle at her hip. "I can work with that." And he does. He really does. Then again, if this is what qualifies for work in Phil's life, Maria is curious to know how he plays. His lips skim the underside of her breast, a pink tongue darting out to flick over her nipple and she forgets all about curiosity. She takes him by the hair, though his is cropped short and already thinning over a shiny scalp. Phil moans. 

He doesn't try to send her sprawling to the mattress again. There's really no need when together they manage to get his fly undone and Maria feels his cock thicken in her fist. If she could think, if she could move, she'd get her underwear off and peel off her knee-length stockings. With Phil's hands kneading at her ass, she doesn't even entertain the notion. 

"You want to fuck me?" 

"Yeah," Phil murmurs against her lips. "I've got condoms—"

"I'm," Maria starts and this is the weirdest thing to be embarrassed about, but a part of her can't help worry guys will be turned off if she appears _easy_. "I'm already wearing one." 

Phil's eyes widen a little. In the low light of the room, Maria can't tell if they're green or brown. It doesn't matter; Phil is a handsome man and he's ticked all the right boxes so far. "You're wearing one?" he breathes and palms her cunt through sopping underwear, lightly pressing with the tips of his fingers as if to prove it to himself. There's no mistaking the rustle of latex. "Oh wow. That might be the sexiest thing—can I see?"

Her discomfort abating, Maria nods. It's a little odd to be the object of his scrutiny, but Phil's breaths only grow more laborious as he pries her soaking panties aside. His fingers brush her mound, thread through the freshly sheared curls in gentle exploration. He finds her clit with his thumb just as Maria starts thinking about urging him on. Her hips buck, a sharp jolt of pleasure arcing up her spine. 

"You tease." 

Phil grins, shark-like, and presses a finger into her. She can feel the intrusion as if the thin barrier of the condom weren't even there. It is, though, and that's all for the better. She can't risk getting pregnant now that she's been put up for a promotion. "You're beautiful," Phil tells her. He sounds so sincere that Maria forgets to hurry him along; lets him touch her for a while, his fingers dipping into her cunt and stroking along her slit until neither of them can take it anymore. 

Their joining is slow, ponderous, but gravity works in Maria's favor as she sinks down onto Phil's cock. 

"Okay?" he breathes, clutching her by the hips.

"Okay. Very okay." He's big, but not enough to hurt. Maria wriggles a little until she can get her knees back under her enough to rise a couple of inches. The condom rustles again, but neither of them acknowledges the noise. It's strangely erotic to have Phil watch her so intently as she moves above him. "You can touch me, you know," Maria moans. "Put your hands on me."

Phil doesn't take much more encouraging. He has only a little room to move, but rather than flip them over, he thrusts up minutely into her cunt and works hips with his broad, calloused hands. Fingers dip between her ass cheeks, where she's never had a man touch her before, and Maria's breath catches. She doesn't ask him to stop. Riding him becomes less a matter of forcing his hand and more like an indispensable act, like breathing. Heat pools in her belly. Every slick, smooth slide of his cock inside her intensifies the blaze. Phil rolls his tongue over her nipples and up to bite at her neck. 

That's all it takes. 

Maria bears down hard on him, rolling her hips. She frantically works her clit with her fingers, but it's Phil's voice in her ear, a whisper ordering her to come that does it. Orgasm spills over her like roaring waves. She squeezes hard around his dick; feels his hands grip her tightly as Phil strains to follow. He only lasts a couple more seconds before tumbling over the edge.

"Well... shit." Maria is still in his lap, her thighs quivering as she feels Phil's softening length slip out. "That was something." 

Phil hums agreement. "Good something?" His eyes are closed, breaths coming short and fast. They didn't even bother undressing all the way, too desperate for each other to bother with details. 

That he isn't looking at her makes it easier for Maria to prop herself on one elbow and watch him for a change. "Yeah," she breathes. "Think you can do it again in a little while?"

Phil's laughter echoes like a stray bullet. They do it again before he leaves in the morning and Maria can't bring herself to regret his hands on her even for a second. 

She shoots him and email to suggest they meet again. An answer is waiting in her inbox when she gets home. It's just the one line but it reads: _I'm free this weekend. Don't finish that wine without me._

It takes three weeks of meeting on and off -- and not being assaulted by her online paramour; take that, statics -- for Maria to work up the nerve to ask for what she wants. She could make up a hundred different reasons all to pretend she didn't just watch a porno and feel aroused, but in the end, it's easier to just tell Phil about it as she's stroking him in bed. 

Phil doesn't look surprised. "I tried it once," he says, smiling crookedly, "with a very Catholic ex. She looked like she was enjoying it."

"And you?" Maria has to ask. They've tried all sorts of things since that first night. Some didn't do much for her but Phil seemed to like them. The reverse has also holds true. They talk about sex so much these days that she hasn't felt pressured into doing things she doesn't want to yet. (Truth be told, it's not like they can talk about much else: Maria has no desire to keep lying to Phil about the Bureau, so she skirts those questions as best she can. Luckily, Phil seems no hurry to talk about his job, either. There's no pressure of reciprocity.) 

"I liked it a lot," Phil confesses sheepishly. 

That's all the encouragement Maria needs. "I have lube."

"Bet you were a girl scout."

Not in this life. Maria plucks the lubricant from her bedside table and rips off the seal. She likes to be prepared. Turns out that's good because anal sex isn't as effortless as skinflicks make it look. Phil takes his time slicking her up and his fingers soon stop feeling like a weird, medical probing.

It's weird how comforting it feels to have Phil's body bear down onto hers; his lips at her nape as he presses deeper and deeper into her ass. 

"Feeling okay?" he murmurs, nuzzling at the knobs of her spine until Maria shivers pitifully. She's a strong, independent woman. She shouldn't enjoy this weird sense of submission, right?

Frustration thickens in Maria's throat: "Just as okay as I was five minutes ago." It's not bravado that has her say as much. It hurt a little to accommodate Phil's thick fingers, at first, but it's come to feel pretty good now that his cock is inside her. She doesn't let herself dwell on the how and why, just rocks back into the warmth of his body. "Just fuck me?"

Phil kisses the wing of her shoulder. "I will... Can you reach your vibrator from here? I want to get you off." 

Maria doesn't say _you are_. She doesn't say _so do it_. They don't play those games like a spur of the moment thing and she doesn't want to complicate things. She fishes her vibrator from between headboard and mattress, which is exactly where she used to hide it when she was still living at home. Phil eases up enough to let her slide it in. 

He chuckles when Maria sinks into the mattress, her body relaxing into the excess stimulation. "Please." Phil's the first man she's begged for anything. She keeps waiting to feel like she's betraying the sisterhood because of that, but it hasn't happened yet.

It still doesn't happen when Phil slides his hands over her arms and pins her wrists to the mattress. "What's that?"

"I said _please_ , you bastard. Don't let it go to your head." He doesn't take much more persuading. 

Phil comes first that night and Maria feels raw and naked when he pulls out. He doesn't leave her unsatisfied. He never does. 

Because it's a Sunday, Phil stays for breakfast the next morning. They meet again that night for sushi and Phil falls asleep on her couch, before they can even make it past first base. Maria wakes him sometime around three in the morning, but not as she's done before, with her mouth on his cock. "C'mon. You'll get a kink in your neck." She tugs him up and into bed without even thinking that it might be weird. 

It's the first time they do nothing more than sleep together. It's not the last. Maria quickly discovers that while Phil doesn't cling, he doesn't seem to mind when she does it. She wakes coiled around him more than once. Occasionally he'll help with his fingers between her legs, but mostly he just seems to like stroking her hair as the sun creeps through the blinds. 

Her mother asks if she's found herself a man: not in so many words, but the implication is obvious enough. Maria has spent a lifetime learning to read between the lines. And for the first time since she's started working for the Bureau, she hesitates. She mumbles something vague and evasive. She doesn't say no. 

She starts to daydream -- would it be so bad to go out on a date together? Phil has good taste in movies and he'll put up with all kinds of music. (Maria caught him humming ABBA in the shower the other day.) Sometimes he brings her Greek from a little deli only he seems to know about, sometimes he'll just whip up a quick quiche in the oven Maria never, ever uses. He tells her about his clients and about his family, little tidbits of information that are just enough to whet her appetite for more. He tells her about his Captain America collection. 

It's when Maria starts to think maybe this could work that it all goes wrong.

The Assistant Director calls her in after hours. Maria is already running late, but she didn't go through years of training to blow it all off on a guy who may or may not be her boyfriend. (She feels too old to call him that with a straight face.) She leaves Phil a voice mail message to say she's still at work. That rehearsals ran over. As if.

"Close the door," says Assistant Director Skinner and Maria does. 

She figures it's a toss-up. A fifty-fifty chance that she got the promotion. And if she hasn't, the worst case scenario is she'll end up working in a field office somewhere, gathering dust with all the other relics. Right now, that doesn't seem like such a terrible thing. (She's got other ambitions.)

"I have good news and bad news." Skinner shifts forward in his seat. "Bad news is you're not going to be working for us much longer."

"Sir?" Even infatuation can't dull the sting of that sudden barb. Maria rocks a little on her heels. "Am I being fired?" There are no rules or regulations against dating, even if her partner of choice is someone she's met on the internet. She checked.

It takes her a minute to realize why Skinner looks more exhausted than usual. The bags under his eyes have deepened; his tie is askew. There's a faint crimson stain on his ear, where he must have held the phone pressed tightly until now. This is news fresh off the presses. "You've been offered the possibility to transfer to a new intra-agency taskforce. It's still very hush-hush. I'm not allowed to tell you what its remit is going to be, what you're going to be doing... Frankly, that's above my pay grade. What I can tell you is that you'll be working under direct comment of the UN Security Council... not the President and not the DOJ."

That's a lot to process, but Maria has always been quick on the ball. "When you say _offered_..."

"You can refuse the transfer," Skinner assures her, "but you should know the request came from high up the totem pole."

And she's not going to get a promotion to compensate, Maria surmises. If this is politics at work, then she's probably not going to get another promotion ever. She's told herself she's ready to live out her days in the Bureau as an analyst. She's been lying.

"What would you do, sir, if you were me?" 

Skinner peels off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'd want to find out why we need yet another acronym agency before I make a decision. But the ball's in your court, Agent Hill. If you're interested, the interviewer will be here at eight."

"Interviewer? I thought--"

"That they weren't going to make you work for it?" Skinner shakes his head. "Sleep on it."

The real danger is that flattery rather than reason will be the decider. Maria doesn't fool herself into thinking she's not as easy to sway with a compliment as anyone else. Case in point: her foot keeps slipping on the gas, threatening to put her past the speed limit. She's got an impeccable record. Tonight's not the night to ruin it.

She finds Phil waiting for her on the front steps of her apartment building. 

"I left you a message," Maria says, partly to curb her own guilt, partly to forestall an argument. It would be their first

Phil waves away the excuse without budging from his sprawl on the concrete steps. "I know, but I was already in the car... Come sit with me." His hand is cold when she takes it. The cello case is a heavy divider between them. 

"What are we looking at?" Maria's fingertips dance over the wooden case, over the wool sleeve of Phil's black suit. Sometimes she'll look at him and think of Kevin Costner in _Bodyguard_. That's probably selling Phil a little short, though. (Plus, she's hardly in need of saving.)

He shrugs, asks if she had a good day rather than talk about his. It's getting harder and harder to lie to him, but Maria does it, because it's for his own good, because she refuses to run a background check on the man she's dating and until she does, he can't know what kind of sensitive information passes by her desk every day. 

"Cold?" Phil asks when he sees her shivering. "I can give you my coat..."

"Or we could go inside." She knows what'll end up happening if they do. Arousal stirs despite the chill, despite Phil being so uncharacteristically aloof. He rises easily enough when prompted and holds out his hand for Maria's. He even helps carry the cello case. The instrument rattles about inside; Maria hasn't played it since college.

They fuck in the living room, with Maria bent over the back of the couch and Phil's hands like hooks at her waist. He doesn't wait to take off his pants or shoes, he doesn't even let Maria suck him off. Foreplay is all in the act. Maria doesn't mind. She gives as good as she gets, clawing at the backs of his thighs and biting his fingers when he takes her by the chin. He pulls her hair; it's not unpleasant, but he's never done it before. He's never been so raw, so desperate for her -- not even that one time, when Maria put her fingers inside him as they fucked. 

She comes on her own fingers and his stiff cock, smothering her moans against the couch cushion. Phil pulls out before he's done, though. That's another first. 

"Did you find that card?" Maria asks as they slide down to the couch to sit side by side like strangers, albeit disheveled strangers who reek of sex.

"What?"

She has to lick her lips before she can speak. "That _Monsters of the Sea_ card, for your Captain America set." He's only been working on collecting them all since they started chatting online what feels like an eternity ago. 

Phil looks at her like she's grown a second head. "No. I haven't."

"You will," Maria tells him, imperious because today was a good day, damn it, and she's not sure why Phil is looking so morose. They've been keeping secrets so long that it doesn't occur to her to ask. "I'm going to take a shower. You're welcome to join me..."

"We won't be getting any cleaner if I do," Phil points out. The corners of his lips twitch into a reluctant smile. At least he's trying to put on a brave face. Maybe later, he'll tell her why he's looking so glum. 

Maria bounces to her feet. "Fine. See if I leave you any hot water."

She's less sorry to find Phil already asleep in her bed when she gets out of the shower than she is to hear the soft click of the front door sometime around six in the morning. There's no note, no blinking red light on her answering machine. Phil doesn't owe her anything, but this is the first time he's left like a thief in the night. 

The thought of calling his cell doesn't even cross Maria's mind. It's for the best. She changes the sheets before she goes to work wearing her least revealing pantsuit and her hair pinned back in a tight ponytail. Skinner catches her eye through a gap in his office door, but doesn't beckon her inside and Maria doesn't go say hello. Her interviewer is waiting in conference room eight. 

A deep breath fills her lungs; it'll do as far as courage. Maria knocks and lets herself in.

There's a quote from Casablanca that always seemed kind of arrogant to her in the past – not one of those 'play it again, Charlie' things that's never actually said. It starts with "of all the gin joints..." and it takes seeing Phil in a pressed black suit on the other side of an oval conference table to grasp its full weight. Maria freezes in the doorway, heart lurching in her throat.

She'd like to say her brain can't compute what her eyes report, but she wasn't hired to work for the FBI because she's slow on the uptake. 

"Agent Hill," says Phil. "Good morning. Please come in and close the door."

Mechanically, with the part of her that's been trained to take orders obeying, Maria does. "Good morning. And you are?" She's too far to see the nametag pinned to his lapel. It spells a name she doesn't know; refers to a man she's never met. Besides, her vision is blurring a little.

"Agent Coulson." 

"You don't work for the Bureau." _You're not an accountant any more than I am a cellist._

Phil smiles a little sadly. He shakes his head. "Depending on the outcome of this interview, you could well be in my position. Let's get started." His fingers flip open the manila folder in front of him just like he flicked through the TV guide at Maria's place a few nights ago. Did he know, then, that they would be staring each other across the table someday?

Was it all a test?

"How did it go?" Skinner asks her after an hour of answering questions. He tries to sound casual. Maria appreciates the effort, but there's nothing he can say that will make this better.

She tries, just for a moment, to see into his eyes any evidence that he already knew about Phil. She's a pretty good judge a character and she yet she comes up empty. "I have to clear out my desk," Maria sighs. "Agent Coulson said he would discuss details with you."

"Right." Skinner clears his throat. "Right. Well, good luck."

They don't do hugs around here. They don't have human emotions. 

There's a reason Maria was one of the youngest and most promising agents in the Bureau: she is their creature and now she's being thrown into a vastly different jungle.

She clears out her desk and email account and her browser history. It's probably too late. 

"Agent Coulson." The metal detector downstairs takes a while to get through when there's a box of cardboard box of knickknacks to sift. Maria doesn't begrudge the officers on duty, even if the delay puts her face-to-face with Phil. 

He seems just as taken aback as she feels. "Agent Hill." Maria tries not to let her gaze wander as he doffs his suit jacket to pass through the metal detector. It doesn't chime. "Have a good evening."

"You too," she starts to say. "Oh, hang on." His jacket has come out on the other side, X-rayed and given the okay, but his wallet stills rests at the bottom of the plastic tray, forgotten. It only takes a quick sleight of hand to fetch it before it's misplaced. "I think this fell out."

Their fingers brush in the exchange and a fragile jolt of electricity sparks beneath her skin. Maria's expression betrays nothing. Neither does Phil's, though he must have felt the paper underside of the wallet, the rounded corners of a cardboard cut-out.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Maria picks up her box. She means that in every sense. They can't work for a spy agency and build a life together at the same time; they can't build anything on a foundation of lies and mistrust. 

She doesn't stick around to see if Phil dares peek at the card, or if he smiles when he realizes he's finally acquired a full set. With a little luck, he might tell Agent Hill about it someday.


End file.
